by Tania Crosse
He hesitated, fixing me with his eyes. ‘Well, you could try and trace your father. If you wanted to, that is.’
I blinked at him pensively. The idea had been too enormous to contemplate before. ‘I don’t know. It would be a terrible shock to whoever he is. He thinks I’m dead, and he might not be too happy to learn that it’s because of me that he’s in a wheelchair. Or at least, so we believe. He could hate me.’
‘No one could hate you, Lily.’
His eyes bore into mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I chose to ignore it. We were just friends.
‘Anyway,’ I said, tossing my head dismissively, ‘I’ve nothing to go on. I don’t even know his full name. It wasn’t in the newspaper cuttings and Sidney just refers to him as Kevin. And it was ten years ago. I expect he was taken to Greenbank Hospital after the accident, but they wouldn’t divulge any details even if they still had it on record. And who knows what might have happened later. He might have moved away or died since then.’
‘Or maybe not. The Navy would have records of what happened at the time, but there again, they probably wouldn’t release any information. Pity Ed’s Uncle Michael was Merchant rather than Royal Navy, or he might have been able to find out something. But what about Uncle Artie?’ Daniel suggested with sudden inspiration. ‘He’s lived in Plymouth all his adult life and knows loads of people. I remember he had a cleaner once. One of those busy-body types who had to know everybody’s business. That was the sort of incident she’d have relished. She’d have gone to the ends of the earth to find out all the details. She had a lifetime of working for people all over the city. She was pretty elderly when she gave up working, but if she’s still alive, I bet you she’d remember something about it.’
‘Do you think so? Oo…oh,’ I wondered, biting my bottom lip and feeling as if I was standing on my head. ‘Uncle Artie’s coming to dinner tomorrow.’
‘Then you could ask him.’ And then Daniel pulled in his chin. ‘If you want.’
I felt my heartbeat quicken. I was all tangled up inside like a piece of knotted string. Could I ever unravel it? But I was rescued by Trojan bounding up to us with his lead hopefully in his mouth and his eyes gazing balefully up at us.
Daniel laughed and stood up. ‘Looks like it’s walkie time. Will you come with us, or do you need to get back?’
‘No, I’d love to come with you!’ I replied, bursting with enthusiasm. ‘A walk on the moor is just what I need. My wellies are in the boot of the car.’
‘Still haven’t bought yourself some proper walking boots, then?’ His tone was gruff, but I could see the teasing light in his eyes.
‘No, not yet,’ I grinned back. ‘But I must.’ I didn’t add that as I had thought I might be moving away, I probably wouldn’t need any boots. But I’d learnt the previous day that I hadn’t got the job at Greenbank. And in a way, I was glad. What I needed now was normality, not a new life.
We set out westward to the area I myself knew fairly well by now. The Devonport Leat stretched along the side of a gently sloping hill with granite slabs set across at intervals to act as footbridges. There were numerous streams and springs that met up to form Newleycombe Lake, the brook that ran into the top of Burrator Reservoir, and littered everywhere were the curious remains of disused tin workings. It was a bleak and savage part of the moor, but beautiful in its isolation as the sun was setting in a glorious, orange-flamed ball of fire.
‘Let’s go over to the stone row. You know, where we met,’ Daniel suggested after a while. ‘We can make a circular walk and come back along the track.’
I frowned at him dubiously. ‘That’s quite a long way and it’ll be dark soon. And what about your leg?’
‘My leg’s fine. And I’ve got a torch,’ he said, slapping the pocket of the jacket he’d put on over his shirt. ‘Besides, it’s going to be a full moon and the sky’s perfectly clear.’
‘Well,’ I hesitated, but I felt safe with Daniel and his intimate knowledge of the terrain. It would be quite an adventure to be out on the moor at night. I used to have that short walk in the dark from King Tor Halt to Foggintor when I came home from work on the train during that first winter. I used to follow the path and came to appreciate those few minutes’ solitude before facing Sidney. So to be out in a remote region of the moor in the dark could be quite inspiring. ‘All right,’ I gave in. ‘As long as you don’t get us lost.’
He raised a mildly affronted eyebrow but said nothing as we changed direction. The sun had disappeared and the sky almost instantly deepened to a murky grey, the autumn air suddenly cool and damp. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, glad that I had worn slacks and a thick cardigan over my blouse when I had driven up earlier that afternoon.
I kept by Daniel’s side as we crossed the uneven, rising ground. We had both slowed down with the uphill climb and the dusk was making it more difficult to see where we were stepping. The usual sounds of the moor, the stonechats and wheatears chattering among the rocks, buzzards mewing overhead or the occasional cry of a curlew, ceased abruptly, and we were plunged into a shadowy, fading twilight. I don’t think I’d ever smelt the peat so strongly as I did then in the evening damp, and when I glanced over my shoulder, a fragile, pearly mist was rising in the little valley we had left behind.
Daniel had been right. A full moon was rising towards its zenith, its silvery incandescence more radiant as the sky deepened to sapphire velvet scattered with twinkling stars. It was breath-taking, eerie, mysterious. And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Daniel suddenly stopped and put a restraining hand on my arm. ‘Trojan, heel!’ he commanded in a hoarse whisper, and the dog obediently came to Daniel’s side and he clipped on the lead. ‘Look!’ he grated, and jerked his head to the long, low dip in front of us. ‘There’s something going on down there.’
I squinted into the moonlit darkness. I could make out the long sweep of the row of standing stones and followed them up to the circle surrounding the burial mound. I couldn’t see anything else. It was too far away. And then I saw movement. Yes. There was someone, something, moving about the sacred site.
‘Come on,’ Daniel urged, but to my horror, he was leading me towards the stones. ‘Keep down low. We need to see what’s going on. It could be to do with the sheep. A sacrifice.’
I was petrified, my heart exploding with each rapid beat. ‘Daniel, it could be dangerous!’ I protested in a muted squeal.
He turned to me, the whites of his eyes flashing in the moonlight. ‘This could be the best chance we get,’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got to stop all this. Look, you don’t have to come. You can stay here with Trojan.’
‘What!’ The idea of waiting there all on my own was more terrifying than going with Daniel. And he was right. There had been some horrible ritualistic sheep-killings on the moor. It didn’t do to think what the poor creatures had suffered, and then there were the farmers like my friends, the Colemans. ‘No, I’ll come with you. But promise me. No heroics, Daniel.’
‘Don’t worry. I want these people properly prosecuted.’
I followed him, crouching down low as we crept through the long, grey-green grass. My heart was beating so hard that I felt faint and I was stifling one long, terrified whimper. We stole nearer, dropping on our hands and knees to crawl until we were less than a hundred yards away, but keeping on the same contour so that the stone row was still slightly below us. We stopped then, lying on our bellies. Trojan lifted his head, growling softly, until Daniel shushed him and he fell instantly silent.
A dozen figures were moving, gliding like apparitions, inside the circle, their bodies pale and ghostly in the gloom. With the air so still, I could just catch some murmured chanting, and I shuddered. My God, this was definitely some sort of ritual! But it was 1956, not the Middle Ages! I couldn’t believe it, but here was something going on before my very eyes!
Beside me, Daniel fumbled in his pocket and pulled out some binoculars which he proceeded to train on the ceremony below us
. I waited literally with baited breath, shaking like a leaf. Daniel gave a wry grunt and his mouth curved at the corners before he handed the binoculars to me.
‘See if you recognise anyone,’ he whispered in my ear.
I wasn’t used to binoculars, especially in the dark, and it took me some moments to adjust the focus. If it hadn’t been for the full moon, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to see anything at all. And then I snatched in my breath. The figures were naked as they swayed about in a circle, and one of them was more than familiar.
‘Oh, good Lord! Gloria!’ I gasped.
‘You know I had the feeling she was trying to warn me off,’ Daniel all but chuckled beside me. ‘Didn’t want me to see her prancing around in the buff. And no sacrificed sheep, of course. All quite harmless.’
‘I do hope she doesn’t catch cold,’ I said in all seriousness, and I heard Daniel splutter as he fought to contain his amusement.
Almost as if they had heard me, the ring of naked, moonlight dancers came together, arms uplifted and holding hands. And then they broke away and wandered over to where they had evidently left their clothes. They dressed quickly and hurried off in the direction of Norsworthy Bridge where we imagined they had parked their cars. I presumed someone must be giving Gloria a lift as she didn’t drive. It all seemed incongruous!
‘Well, then.’ Daniel scrambled to his feet. ‘Come on, Carrots. We’d better get back. If you don’t fancy driving home, you can stay the night if you’d like. Just give Deborah a ring to let her know.’
But at that moment, I was so astounded that I didn’t know what I wanted to do. But I didn’t think I could ever look Gloria in the eye again!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Kate! Whatever’s the matter?’
The following Tuesday I had gulped down my lunch – much to Edwin’s disapproval as he said I’d get indigestion – and hurried into Woolworths to see Kate before I went back to work. She always had an early lunch and would be back at her counter. We hadn’t met for a couple of weeks and her parents weren’t on the phone, and I wanted to tell her about the diary and what I had discovered. I was bursting to impart the news that I had thought really hard about what Daniel had said and had decided to try and trace my father. Uncle Artie had called at the house of his old cleaner. She no longer lived there but the present occupier knew where she was and had agreed to pass on a letter, and dear Uncle Artie promised to write the next day.
All my soul-searching had turned me topsy-turvy. I was bubbling with excitement, but what if my efforts came to nothing or I found that my real father was dead? I would have to brace myself against such disappointment. There again, what if I traced Kevin and he didn’t want to know me? Or if I didn’t like him? But deep down, I knew I had to try. If I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my days. Who knew, I might discover other relatives along the way? I needed to tell everyone how I felt, hence my desire to speak with Kate. But when I got to Woollies, I found her with eyes red-rimmed and a face as long as ninepence.
‘Oh, Lily!’ she squealed and then burst into tears.
Oh dear. This wasn’t like Kate. She was always so bright and chatty. Fortunately there weren’t any customers waiting and although I knew I shouldn’t, I went behind the counter and put my arms around her.
‘What’s brought this on?’ I asked, at a loss to know what could have upset her.
She pulled away, sniffing hard, and gave a snorting hiccup as she tried desperately to stop crying. ‘It’s Pete,’ she gulped, squeaking again. ‘He’s found someone else. At college.’
‘Oh, Kate,’ I sighed sympathetically. ‘I am sorry.’
But my words obviously held no comfort for her as her bottom lip quivered. ‘I love him so much,’ she moaned. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else. And who else is goin’ to want an old baggage like me?’
‘Oh, Kate, don’t talk like that. You’re fun to be with, lively—’
‘But I’m not pretty and intelligent like you,’ she snivelled. ‘I thought I’d get your job here as Mrs Kershaw’s assistant, but I wasn’t clever enough. And now I can’t even serve on the counter properly. I keep gettin’ the till all wrong and Mrs Kershaw said if I don’t pull my socks up, I’ll have to leave.’
‘I’m sure it’s just because you’re upset over Pete,’ I tried to rationalise.
‘Oh, Lily, I don’t know!’ Kate wailed. ‘If my mum and dad didn’t need the extra I bring in, I’d chuck it all in. And I’m fed up with the journey on the bus every day. It isn’t the same as the train. And I miss Sally so much and I don’t see you—’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ I interrupted guiltily. ‘I’ve been busy with Daniel and other things recently. But I tell you what. I promise I’ll come up on Sunday and we can have a good old chin-wag and catch up.’
‘Really?’ Kate seemed to perk up at once. ‘That’d be great!’
‘Well, I’d better get back to work. Cheer up! There’s more than one fish—’
‘All right for you to say that. You’ve got Daniel.’
‘Daniel? Oh, we’re just good friends.’ I tried to say it flippantly, but I knew in my heart that I was only hiding the hurt from myself.
We had a real girl’s day on the Sunday, listening to music and flicking through magazines. I enjoyed myself, but I felt as if it was turning back the clock. I had moved on since those early days I had spent with Kate and Sally. So much water had flowed under the bridge and I was no longer the child who had stepped off the train on that dark winter’s evening.
‘It’s Uncle Artie for you, Lily,’ Wendy announced the next evening. ‘I think he’s got some news,’ she warned me, ‘but he wouldn’t say what.’
My heart jumped into my mouth and I glanced around the lounge. We had been chuckling at Hancock’s Half Hour and to be suddenly dragged back to reality was a shock. My pulse accelerated wildly and I was trembling as I went out into the hall and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello, Uncle Artie,’ I said, surprised at how relaxed I sounded when I was tingling with apprehension.
‘Hello, Lily, little maid,’ I heard his cheerful tone. ‘Got a little news for you. Aggie got my letter today and she just rang me. She remembers about your father. She were a cleaner at the hospital at the time and it were all the talk. She’s pretty sure his name were Westerham.’
‘Westerham?’ I repeated inanely. My real father’s name was Kevin Westerham. It was like an explosion within me. Somehow knowing his name made him more real, more tangible.
‘Yes,’ Artie confirmed. ‘I’ve looked in the phone book and rung Directory Enquiries, but I’m afraid there’s no K Westerham listed in Plymouth. And anyway, Aggie thinks he went into a nursing home. But at least you’ve got his name now.’
‘Yes. Thank you so much!’
‘Not at all. Didn’t do much, did I? And it were good to talk to Aggie again. She’s getting on, but she’s all about, like.’
I had to smile to myself. All about. It was one of the local expressions I’d come to know, even used myself at times. All there and halfway back, Ellen would have said. It was as if I’d made a complete break with my old life in London, but if the name Artie had found for me led me to my father, it would bring it all back.
There was a list of all registered nursing homes both in Tavistock and Plymouth in the office at the hospital, so I systematically began ringing them all to ask if they had ever had a resident called Kevin Westerham in the last ten years. Several of them didn’t keep records going back that far but promised to ask long-standing staff. Others said they would look through when they had time. Nowhere had a definite yes, and I was beginning to wonder if I wasn’t looking for a needle in a haystack. I was losing heart. I just seemed to be leaving messages with people who would ring me back if they discovered anything. It was hopeless.
So I went back to concentrating on Daniel’s book and the winter of 1951. The prisoners shivered their way through the bitter weather, but by the spring of ’5
2, the Chinese had decided that the Westerners were beyond redemption and instruction became voluntary. Daniel sometimes went to lectures for something to do – and to enjoy the heckling. Boredom, the starvation diet and deep-seated apathy were the main enemies – apart from the rats, lice and disease, all of which resulted in a string of incidents described in the book. The whole ethos was soul-destroying. Morale was occasionally lifted by permission to write a letter home, but none of Daniel’s ever got through and neither did he receive any.
A handful of books in English were available, ones which were considered ideologically sound: Dickens – because Britain was portrayed as bleak under capitalism – and some Steinbeck. Daniel had read War and Peace, another permitted title, three times. No wonder he never wanted to see it ever again! He had enjoyed rereading Rebecca, but the last page had been torn out as it apparently contained some vague anti-communist comment.
At least now the manuscript didn’t contain such horrific material as it had at first, but I could imagine the frustration and anger ripping a man apart as the physical and mental deprivations gnawed away day after day, week after week. There was, though, one last incident that turned my stomach again. Prisoners were taken out on forced forays to collect firewood and, on one such occasion, someone had twisted his ankle. My ears pricked up as I remembered Daniel saying something about experience of a sprained ankle when he had rescued me out on the moor, and I wondered if this was what he had referred to. The chap couldn’t put his weight on it and instead of carrying on with his own load of firewood, Daniel had gone to his aid. He had been beaten to the ground for his troubles, made to carry both his own and the other man’s loads back to the camp, and then was chained in a standing position to a post out in the blistering heat. When he had finally collapsed from heat stroke, he had been taken to the so-called hospital to recover, but the experience had utterly broken his spirit. He resolved to put himself first from then on, to harden his heart to anyone else’s sufferings no matter how he hated himself for it. From then on, every ounce of his depleted energies was directed into his own survival.
